


For Queen and Country

by Poktanju



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-18
Updated: 2010-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:09:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poktanju/pseuds/Poktanju
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Parcel Mistress accepts an offer she can't refuse, and learns a few things about herself in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Queen and Country

Parcel Mistress self-consciously grasped the medal pinned to her chest and scanned the ornate ballroom. Aside from White Queen and her tag-alongs, it was filled with award recipients much like herself: clerks, artists, bakers even. She couldn't remember the significance of the honour or even its name, but didn't feel that these details were relevant to her -- not when she was unable to comprehend deserving an award at all. Hadn't she only fulfilled her birth-right? Still, she wasn't going to pass up a chance to get some face-time with the queen. Getting to know her was least as good as being chummy with nine other pawns.

 

"This has come far too late, Parcel Mistress," WQ said with a playful smile. "The fact that it's taken this long for your name to come my way, and that I've had to fend off an inexhaustible supply of beguiling self-promoters all the while, is... unfortunate. You deserve recognition more than anyone else in this room."

 

"Uh, I am grateful! Your Majesty. I'm very flattered," PM stuttered, limply shaking WQ's hand. Her protocol was rusty, but it seemed she was getting good feedback with her style. WQ nodded to her handlers; they quickly left the pair and busied themselves with other things.

 

"I want to know you better. You may not believe that I am a 'personal monarch', as the scholars like to write, but I am dedicated to fostering close relationships with my subjects... especially one as effective and loyal as you."

 

"I'm honoured, Ma'am, but -- why me? With all due respect and humbleness, I don't think I'm really that special," PM waffled.

 

"Your reputation has travelled with your name: Parcel Mistress of Prospit, she of tenacious determination and yet unflappable morals, fastidious propriety and yet exemplary ingenuity. Don't you agree with that assessment of your character?"

 

PM didn't answer, only averting her gaze.

 

"I'm taking the time because a position in my court opened just as your name became known to me," the queen continued, "and I would very much appreciate it if you considered accepting the appointment. I am aware that it is a significant increase in the scope of your duties. But you have already proved yourself capable of the impossible..."

 

WQ called her handlers and prepared to move on to the next honouree. She turned to the nonplussed Mistress one more time.

 

"Please, do not feel pressured to respond immediately. However, a quick reply would be appreciated."

 

****

 

"Your work is meaningful to me, but our cooperation cannot continue until you accept the committed terms of your command and put to good use the brilliant mind that you present so clearly in writing..."

 

PM transcribed these words to paper with practiced speed. They capped off a series of phrases that, while very flattering, came across with a wholly intentional air of condescension.

 

Upon hearing her letter read back to her, WQ sighed and walked up to the window of her reading room. Prospit unravelled below her, resplendent in white and gold against the dark Incipisphere. PM found the view from this room indescribably, subliminally pleasurable, but WQ didn't appear to share the feeling. If anything, she seemed oddly displaced, as if the world she inhabited wasn't actually her own. Ballroom conversation excepting, she was as distant as PM had expected.

 

At first, she barely acknowledged her newest servant; the only appreciable changes in PM's day-to-day routine were an increase in clerical work and a phenomenal unpredictability in the length and location of her mail run. The Prospitian palace was a damn slight better place for a pawn than the Dersite one, but there was a challenge in rising so many stations at once. Even she would admit to being run a little ragged: it was a constant barrage of messages to far flung parts of the kingdom, constant invitations to graft and corruption, unbecoming advances and general disrespect. Her down-to-board, tube-spun straightforwardness was a terrible match for her new duties, and the officials she encountered made no secret of it. Perhaps the Queen was lying about her reputation being well-known.

 

Then again, PM knew that her treatment would've been worse had the Queen not eventually made clear that she was destined for her retinue. But, although her situation improved, their relationship did not thaw too much. WQ liked her, sure, and was appreciably kinder to her any other pawn, but she was not above putting her to use as a mortar between the bricks of her other, less competent servants. She was asked to prepare small meals while the cook was away, requested to entertain dinner guests when the Queen was held up, and even required to deliver urgent messages to the King on the battlefield at risk of life and limb. She took to these tasks gladly and never complained, because beneath it all, WQ was still holding back on something. PM knew there was something that she'd wanted to say since the beginning that, before it made its way out her mouth, always mutated into some sort of order or demand. PM wanted to find out what it was.

 

"It's a lot of rubbish, isn't it?" WQ said.

 

PM wrote that down too, blushing when she realised that WQ was only making conversation.

 

"No, not at all! It's very well composed."

 

"Throw it out. I'm not happy with it."

 

"Ma'am is trying to pump up his ego, right? That's what I'm getting from it," PM said, without complying to WQ's request.

 

"Yes, that is my aim, but I am considering if it's something we should lower ourselves to... if you understand. You see, he is concerned primarily with egos and posturing and toying with the system, which is fine. He, like many, is a man of _that type_. But men of that type have to accept their place within our system as social butterflies, amoral merchants and mid-level bureaucrats. Men of that type are ill-suited to serve as front-line generals, and I should not be playing games with a man of that type if he has so overstepped his bounds.

 

"I should have recalled him a long time ago, but... inertia is a powerful force in this kingdom. Trying to accomplish something is like drowning in a bucket of sand."

 

"Ohh, I'm so sorry Ma'am has to go through that, but it's tough for all of us and we should never lose sight of our duties." PM flinched, knowing that that sentence could not possibly come over well. She took mental stock of the opulent surroundings with the expectation that it would be her last happy memory. WQ, however, did nothing more than stop pacing and sit down in the chair beside PM.

 

"You and I, and possibly the King."

 

"P-pardon me, your Majesty?" PM stuttered, discovering that her tongue had apparently doubled in size.

 

"We are the only living people here... did you notice? I realised you would understand this as soon as I saw you. Did you think I would waste so much breath on anyone else?" WQ said, not appreciating PM's confused expression.

 

"I... I thought Ma'am did that for everybody."

 

"There are dedicated citizens and beautiful ones, of course, but in you... I saw something greater than your stated purpose. You might not know yet, but I am certain you are destined for something beyond the call of duty. That's the only reason I wanted you here. All I ask is that you listen."

 

WQ took PM by the hand and gripped it tightly. Her eyes shut in thought.

 

"My deepest apologies, but I am a little overwhelmed!" PM said. "What else is there 'beyond' here?"

 

"I daren't ask this of anyone else, because our kingdom is otherwise inhabited by shambling automatons: what are our duties, Miss Messenger, and to what end do they serve? I would be pleasantly surprised if you can find more meaning in them than I can."

 

"I... I've been told we are working towards betterment of Prospit and the defence of Skaia."

 

"That is a pithy sentiment, but no truer than the hateful words in the letter you're writing."

 

"I don't understand. We know what we're doing from the very beginning, right? From Veil to Skaia. Why would Ma'am, of all of us, have doubts?" PM asked with growing distress.

 

"Because Skaia cannot be saved and our planet can never be preserved -- at least, not by our hand. We answer to forces entirely outside of our control, and that is fine for most. But I've always found that my capacity for a purposeful existence far outstrips the purpose given to me. The chances are not in our favour but we press ahead anyway. But no one knows what's on the other side. It seems as though I was the only one to ask," WQ said with a noticeable edge in her voice.

 

"Forgive my rudeness, Ma'am, but I choose to believe we can win this and get the reward that good people get when they defend what is right!" PM replied with familiar words, but they failed to soothe her mind.

 

"I believe we can win too, Miss Messenger, but even if we do, the victory will not be ours. There's nothing for us at the end. It's a little difficult to explain, but you'll find out in due time. We both will, and no one else. I strongly suggest that you follow me closely from now on so that you're ready when that time comes and we need to... leave. Please understand." WQ attempted to calm PM, but she wasn't having any of it.

 

"Are you telling me that everyone will die except for us, that we're going to be exiled and there's nothing we can do about it? That's what you believe in?" PM stood up out of her chair, as if preparing to defend herself. "I am very sorry, but I will not give up everything I've done just because you have some half-baked doubts!"

 

"I only wanted to warn you of my misgivings about our shared future, but it looks like I've made a hash of it, haven't I? Leave, immediately, and hope that I don't punish you for speaking to me that way."

 

"I'm going to let your valet know you probably need some help, because you're not thinking very clearly!"

 

WQ grabbed a capped inkpot off the end-table and hurled it into the wall, speckling PM with black ink.

 

"Get out of my sight," WQ hissed.

 

****

 

The White King took a seat next to PM on a bench in the palace garden. He kicked at the gardening implements that laid at her feet and cleared his throat.

 

"She is sorry for her outburst, but her point stands."

 

"You too, your Majesty?"

 

"She's a complicated being -- it was a stroke of awful luck for her to be released from the tube with that kind of insatiable curiosity. See, I take events one by one, and I know that I may die in the very next moment, or in battle, or never at all. But she's decided she needs to find out how this all ends beforehand, and... I think she's right in what she found. I'm not bothered, though, and I can't fathom why she would be. Me, I think it's just who we are. She accepts that I'll never understand but for some reason she's dead set on you 'getting it', which is why she's so upset... listen to me babble on. I just wanted to tell you she forgives you, but hopes that you'll come around."

 

"I don't understand, Sire. I have my doubts, but to accept that this is all for nothing and we have to exile ourselves to survive... it's hard to accept!"

 

"I wish I could provide more guidance, but as I said... I am not thinking nearly as far ahead as you and the Queen are. This is between you and her. There will be a chance for you to meet up with her at the ball, and she wanted me to let you know she would appreciate it if you were there."

 

"I... I'll try, Sire. I am eternally thank--"

 

"No, stop. Don't take it personally, but I'm sick of hearing stuff like that. I'm not a god."

 

WK got up to leave, but stopped, apparently remembering something important.

 

"One more thing. She's told me in detail about you, and she's really very taken. If she does choose to connect with you in that most familiar way..."

 

"I'm sorry, what?" PM turned red as her mind wandered to an inappropriate place, only to get even redder as she realised WK was thinking the exact same thing.

 

"If it happens," he chuckled. "I'm not saying you have to follow through, but if it happens, please keep it discreet. Follow the proper protocols in public. It's all I ask: for you to keep her happy and to keep me not looking, well, like a idiot. Just a small courtesy I ask of you."

 

PM found herself once again in that most unnatural of places for her -- the ballroom -- and looked over the crowd. She knew her days at this stratum of society were limited and decided to cash in her connections at least once before her departure. The tailor had done a wonderful job, creating for PM a simple lilac dress, excellent in colour against her own carapace, one she could wear close to her body without changing its shape and without obstructing graceful movement. That is, if she wasn't too terrified to move. She resembled a particularly attractive statue more than anything, and the young men of society had long since given up trying to get her attention.

 

PM saw WQ at the other end of the ballroom. She was clad in a tasteful black dress, low-cut and exposing the shoulders, giving particular contrast to the pendant she wore around her neck. Against the far gaudier colours of her court, she stood out in a most remarkable and beautiful way. PM felt her heart make an attempt to leap into her throat. A thousand terrible situations flashed through her mind, but as WQ approached they fell one by one. The Queen took her hand and kissed it. PM bit her lip.

 

"Please accept my apologies, Peacemaking Messenger. I have confidence that you'll find your own way. I accept that it is not within my control."

 

"I am forever grateful for your Majesty's understanding," PM whispered. "I suppose... I am no longer in employ of the court?"

 

"Unfortunately, I would be too tempted to try to convince you again," WQ said, smiling that kind smile PM remembered so well. "I'm sure you agree that you'll be happier just doing your rounds. Until the right time comes."

 

PM smiled back. "Thank you."

 

WQ suddenly pulled her into the crowd -- the music was starting to play. PM was a bit confused, but she quickly came to realise WQ only wanted one last moment before ending things. The pair had an audience before long, as people stopped mingling to watch WQ and PM together.

 

"Shame to him who thinks ill of this," WQ said.

 

She invited PM to the waltz. After she accepted, WQ wrapped her arm around PM's waist and gracefully guided her through the proper steps...

 

****

 

"You have strange dreams, Miss Mendicant," WQ deadpanned, filling up PM's dented champagne flute with well-preserved sparkling wine. PM took some of the sweet elixir, letting it fizz pleasantly on her tongue. It provided welcome relief from the relentless heat of the desert.

 

"Yeah... I'm sorry that my mind thinks you're such a jerk. I'm weird like that! I get mad at how I can be guarded and really indecisive, so I guess I had you take it out on me."

 

"Well, in case you need to be reminded, I'm not angry at all. Even my dream self forgave you. You're the best friend I've ever had, and, well, if anyone should be blamed it should be me. When I first came down here, every night I would just relive the terrible experience of being cut loose... I dreamt I was tossed off the ship onto the sand, and just left there to die."

 

"That's awful. I'm really sorry to hear that."

 

"Don't be. My subconscious has been much kinder to me. That's the best things about our memories -- they can be soothed."

 

WQ climbed into the foam-lined crate where PM was sitting and embraced her tightly, kissing her on the cheek. She took a sip of her own wine while toying idly with PM's tattered wrappings.

 

"So that was mine. What's yours?" PM said puckishly.

 

"Alright, this one might be tricky so, please, stop me if you feel uncomfortable."

 

"Try me."

 

"I remember that you had put on the ring, and were fully prototyped. You had me cornered in the royal chambers..."


End file.
